


Dissolution

by Infie



Series: Sojourn in the Void - Alternate Season 3.5 [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, F/M, Gen, Human Trafficking, Sexual Assault, dark themes, explicit violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3684735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infie/pseuds/Infie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode One - Oliver Queen is dead, and Nyssa returns to Starling City to tell the team, who are devastated by the news.  Until there is proof, though, the best option is to focus on the mission at hand: save a group of kidnapped people about to be sold into slavery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Death of a Hero

Nyssa watched her father fight with mixed emotions, a state she was not accustomed to but one which had become all too familiar to her since she first met Oliver Queen. The fact that her knowledge of him was so tightly intertwined with her relationship with Sara simply made the whole situation more complex. 

Sara had loved him. Not with the passion that she had for Nyssa, not with that all-encompassing, glorious need and desire that they had shared so briefly, but with an unexpected honesty nonetheless. Sara would expect her to honour that bond, created of shared experience and equally shared pain and despair, events which Nyssa was never able to plumb in any depths but Oliver Queen had suffered in full measure with her. 

But Sara was dead, and Oliver Queen claimed the abomination of her murder as his responsibility. There was no possibility that it was truth, of course, but the very thought of Queen shielding the true perpetrator of the slaughter of Ta’er el Safher was an atrocity. Someone had taken the sole illumination in Nyssa’s life and had ripped it away from her, leaving only darkness and a desolation that had no assuagement, and Oliver Queen stood in front of that murderer. It lit a rage in her that consumed her reason, that left her devoid of the compassion and stripped her of the respect she might otherwise have shown this man who purported to have loved Sara even as she did. 

He could not have. No one could have loved Sara and allowed her murderer to walk free. To take these extreme steps to _shield_ the culprit was… unforgivable. 

And so, her fury won, and she rejoiced at the inequality of the fight in front of her. Oliver Queen had little experience with swords and it showed, his natural quickness and grace robbed from him by the strenuous climb and his trained skills rendered all but useless by the lack of familiarity with the weapons in his hands. Still, he was steadfast in his efforts, refusing to be cowed or to withdraw. She felt a grudging respect for his agility and speed when he brought her father to a knee, even as she saw the opening that her father would take. 

Oliver Queen toppled from the mountaintop, dead before her father’s boot had touched his shoulder, and all she could think was that the secret of Sara’s murder would die with him. Oliver Queen deserved to die for the offense of shielding Sara’s killer, and for daring to challenge the Demon’s Head. His arrogance had led directly to this result. Any other outcome would be insupportable. 

But now she would never know the true identity of the killer, and that was intolerable too. 

“Well fought, Father,” she found herself saying as she handed over the heavy fur cloak he preferred. “He fought with bravery, if not well.” She took a breath and continued in a deliberately mild, thoughtful tone, “It is a shame he was not offered a bow. That was his true mastery. I don’t believe he ever worked with swords before.” 

She saw her father’s shoulders tighten and his chin come up with irritation. Sarab was staring at her as if she’d grown a second head, which she supposed was only fair. No one, not even Heir, could make implications about a duel fought by Ra’s al Ghul. So she was absolutely astonished when Sarab said, “It’s true. His skill with a bow was unmatched in the time I spent with him.” He bowed his head when Ra’s al Ghul’s eyes slewed his way. 

“Oliver Queen is dead,” Ra’s said grimly. “Retrieve his body. It will return with us, to Nanda Parbat.”


	2. The Blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyssa arrives at Starling bearing proof of Oliver's death.

Nyssa paused at the hidden entrance to the Arrow’s home. And it was his home, regardless of which address he kept on his driver’s license. It was home because it was where his chosen family came together. 

Sara had been her home. 

Familiar grief choked her throat and she leaned heavily against the alley wall, allowing herself this one moment of weakness before facing Oliver Queen’s team with the news of his death. Those other times she had come here, they had been with Sara, or for Sara. The centre of her world was gone and she felt unmoored, adrift. Perhaps she would challenge her father, die by his hand and join her love in oblivion. 

Then she remembered that Sara’s murderer still walked free and unencumbered and the rage brought her back upright, straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. No, before she could seek the final battle she must first obtain her vengeance. For that, she required Arrow’s team, and to obtain their assistance she must inflict upon them the grievous harm she herself had suffered. There would be no pleasure in this, as there would be in finally crushing the murderer’s throat under her fist. No, she took no gratification from this injury she must deal people who she respected, who had loved Sara too. They did not deserve this pain. This was not justice. 

This was _necessity_. 

Worse, it was _truth_ , which she knew all too well cut more keenly than the sharpest blade ever could. Truth meant far more terrible things than physical death. It meant the death of hope. She remembered standing over the obscenity of Sara’s repurposed grave and felt ill. It weakened her knees but strengthened her resolve. 

They would not believe her, she was certain. Her father’s short sword hung heavy on her back as if Oliver Queen’s blood added weight all out of proportion to its amount. Her proof, brought to this place at no small danger and at a matching great cost to the League coffers, but it was required. There was no video proof, and her father had ensured that there was no body to present, so the sword was the only avenue remaining for her to substantiate her assertions. 

And, all of her justifications and reluctance aside, they deserved to know, just as she had _deserved to know_. If nothing else, their attempt to keep Sara’s death from her lessened her guilt at bearing this news. She would show them the respect, the dignity that they had denied her, and in doing so would reclaim some element of honour that the manner of Oliver Queen’s death had stolen from her. 

No more delays. She punched in the code and made her way purposefully, and silently, down the stairs. 

“… human trafficking. I’m not willing to wait for Oliver to come back before going after them.” 

“Felicity is right.” 

“Laurel, if we run into a more than a couple of guys, we’ll be at a significant disadvantage without Oliver.” 

“I think they’re right, Digg. We have no idea when Oliver is getting back, and this group is grabbing women almost every night. We can’t wait.” 

Interesting. She hated human trafficking, almost as much as Sara had. Her father remained largely neutral on the topic, thanks to his origins at a time when human chattel was commonplace, so she had been forced to handle such things as they arose without the support or knowledge of the League. She contemplated allowing them to continue the discussion with an aim to identify a potential target, but ultimately recognized the delay tactic for the reluctance it was. 

“Oliver will not return,” she announced, her voice ringing through the basement. “Oliver Queen has died at the hands of the Demon’s Head.” She slung the heavy cylinder holding the sword off of her shoulder and opened it, ignoring the guns suddenly pointed at her. She twisted off the top of the carrier and withdrew the short sword in a single motion, smoothness born of long practice. She held it up to the light; grim at the way the dried blood on the blade clouded the steel and made the blade look diseased. It pained her to see a good weapon treated so; she had been taught to remove all blood immediately lest it become permanently damaged. 

From the way they were all staring at the sword, it was already tainted in their eyes. She could not blame them. 

“He climbed to the mountain top and faced Ra’s al Ghul,” she felt compelled to continue by their continuing stunned silence. “Oliver Queen selected his weapons.” She held out the sword meaningfully, and the blonde she knew as Felicity Smoak covered her mouth with a gasp. “Ra’s al Ghul took them from him and killed him with this one.” She bowed her head and placed the blade on the nearest table, the one holding a rack of arrows. “It was not a glorious fight, but he lasted longer than most, despite his lack of skill with the sword.” 

John Diggle took an aggressive step forward, gun unwavering in its aim at her head. “Why should we believe you?” 

“I do not expect that you will.” She squared her shoulders. “I bring you this blade as proof. I regret I can neither lead you to nor provide you his body. Ra’s has claimed it for exequies at Nanda Parbat.” 

Oliver’s young protégé turned away, arms wrapping around his chest as if to hold himself together. Laurel Lance placed a hand on his shoulder, her other over her mouth as she stared in blank horror. Diggle’s hands flexed around his gun and she could see in his face that he was seriously considering shooting her. 

Felicity Smoak made her way to the sword with tentative steps, her hands spread at her sides as if she were uncertain of her balance. Nyssa wanted to turn away from the devastation on her face but forced herself to remain still. Felicity reached out a tentative finger and brushed the hilt of the blade with the lightest of touches before her eyes lifted to meet Nyssa’s. Nyssa met the abject desolation in them steadily, though it cost her more than she had expected. 

Felicity bit her lip and withdrew her hand, her eyes never leaving Nyssa’s. Nyssa watched as Felicity slowly locked away all the rage and pain behind a wall of control that the League would envy, her face settling into tired lines of forced calm. “We will test the blood on the sword,” she said evenly. “But I will not believe that Oliver is gone until I see a body.” 

Nyssa inclined her head. “I understand. You must also understand, my father considers the blood debt of Sara’s death to be paid.” She fixed each of them with a look that contained all of her own not insignificant resolve. “I do not. I require your assistance in finding her true killer.” 

Diggle lowered his weapon. Laurel narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you think if we knew who drew the bow that we would have already told you?” 

“Do not mistake my wording for offering you a choice,” Nyssa told them implacably. ‘If you will not assist me freely, I _will_ compel you.” 

Felicity abruptly rubbed her hands over her face, wiping away tears that had sneaked unnoticed down her cheeks. “That’s a discussion for later,” she said firmly, turning and striding for the computers. Nyssa blinked, taken aback. 

The young man, Roy Harper, if she remembered correctly, spun towards her in disbelief. “Later?” 

“We should finish this talk now,” Laurel was equally stunned. 

Diggle had already moved to Felicity’s shoulder and had a hand on her arm. They exchanged a long, speaking look, and then Diggle faced the team steadily. “Later,” he agreed firmly. “Right now we don’t actually know anything about what really happened on that mountain, or about what Nyssa here might or might not be telling the truth about. We need to focus on what we _do_ know.” 

“Suit up,” Felicity said, her back to all of them. “What we do know is the location of the latest strike by the human traffickers. It’s happening right now, and we’re going to stop it.” She spun in her seat, pinning Nyssa into place with a glare. “And we need experienced fighting help, so go get dressed. For tonight, you’re on the team.” 

Nyssa found herself smiling her own incredulity. “You can’t be serious.” 

Diggle crossed his arms. “We’re serious, and we’re not going to help you for free. Right now,” he glared pointedly at the sword, “You owe us one.” 

“Several,” muttered Harper. 

“Tick tock,” Felicity said, pointing at the door. Laurel returned in gear modelled on Sara’s and Nyssa’s breath caught in her throat, her chest twisting with pain. 

“Very well,” she said grimly, reaching for her tunic with hands that were most definitely _not_ shaking with grief. “I hate those who trade in human life. I will assist you.” 

Harper and Laurel bounded up the steps as Diggle passed her one of their tiny communications devices. She followed them up. 

“I hope you’re sure about this,” she heard Diggle say as she opened the door. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” Felicity retorted just before it closed. “Right now I’m not sure of anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise there's a lot of full name use (which always seems bizarre to me in fanfic, cause we already know their names right?), but in this case it's because it's how Nyssa thinks of people in my head; quite often as their full name. So, forgive me the slight stiltedness it creates. Also, I occasionally get 'spelling' help. I'm Canadian. We spell weirdly to some eyes. *Shrug*


	3. Falling (Roy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission to rescue the captives begins as Roy struggles to maintain his focus.

Roy hit the door at the top of the stairs with more force than strictly necessary, needing to release at least some of the whirling chaos rocketing through his head. Laurel was on his heels and he could hear how her breath was hissing through her teeth. 

Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was that sword sitting comfortably in Nyssa’s hand. The light shining off of it and that obscene red-brown smudge smeared up the whole length of the blade. It covered almost the whole thing, like it had been dipped in a bucket of rust-coloured paint. A bucket at least two and a half feet deep. 

If Nyssa was telling the truth, then that red meant something. It meant that blade had penetrated Oliver to at least thirty inches. How could that have happened? Was it … was it through his chest? Was it plunging down from above? 

Was it through his heart? 

The image flickered behind his eyes; Oliver, dead on the slab in the foundry, with that sword sticking straight up from his chest the way the arrows had from Sara’s. 

No! 

Oliver couldn’t be dead. _He couldn’t be._

“It’s not true,” he blurted, coming to a dead stop. He grabbed Laurel’s arm, looking her dead in the eyes. “You hear me? It’s not true.” 

She nodded slowly. “I hear you,” she said, but he could see from the hard lines around her mouth and the tired grief in her eyes that she’d already resigned herself to the other possibility. He gave an impatient growl and let go, turning to the motorcycles hidden in the offshoot of the alley. He came face to face with Nyssa who was waiting with that terrifyingly still patience that seemed so at odds with her fiery personality. She was watching them closely but dispassionately and he barely spared her a glare before straddling his bike. 

“You can ride with me,” Laurel told Nyssa tightly, and Roy angrily brushed at his wet face before drawing on his helmet and kicking the bike into life. 

_“I have a report from Kriegsberg and Main,”_ Felicity’s voice came through the earwig, buzzing faintly and making the hair on his arms stand up as it tickled the inside of his ear. She sounded strained. _“Paladin is up on tactical.”_

“On our way, should be about six minutes.” He replied automatically. Laurel came into his peripheral sight on his right and they took off in sync, leaning into the turn towards Kriegsberg in formation. Laurel was a little slower than usual, he noticed, likely because of her passenger. 

Just like that, it all crashed back down on him and he was shivering again. He could barely feel the vibration of the engine against his thighs for the shudders wracking his body. “Three minutes,” he heard himself say as he passed Heimlen. His voice sounded distant to his own ears, as if the words were being spoken by someone else. 

_”It’s a warehouse,”_ Digg told them evenly. Roy couldn’t believe how calm he sounded. How could he sound so calm? 

_”When isn’t it a warehouse?”_ Laurel asked wryly, a faint tremor betraying her. 

_”Based on the infrared, the girls are being kept in the northwest corner,”_ Digg continued grimly. If he was watching in infrared, Felicity had to have hacked one of the military satellites. She wasn’t screwing around tonight; she clearly just wanted this done. Roy couldn’t have agreed with her more; the tight ball of _wrongness_ in his stomach was getting worse by the second. 

_'Do you have a count?"_ Laurel asked. 

It took Digg a lot longer than it should have to reply, and when he did he sounded distinctly unhappy. _"The building has a lot of people in it,"_ he said. _"I see what I think are about forty packages, and about the same number of guards."_

" _What_?" Roy felt his heart hammer against his chest for an all new reason. 

_"Entirely feasible,"_ Nyssa declared flatly over Laurel's blurt of shock. _"Are they all in one place?"_

_"There's only a small number near the packages,"_ Digg said. _"Looks like six, maybe seven."_

Roy waved his hand to instruct Laurel to turn off and immediately made the turn himself. They were about a block and a half from the target address and he quickly stashed the bike. He yanked his helmet off. "Forty? That’s too many, Paladin," he gritted out. "Especially since we’re not all here. Maybe we should call SCPD early, make an anonymous tip that we heard screams or something." 

_"The Heir can cover Arrow's role,"_ Digg replied evenly. 

"I didn't mean physically." Roy scrubbed a hand over his hair. He could feel the trembling still wracking through his arms. "I mean that _I_ am not all here. I'm distracted!" Laurel settled her helmet on the arm of her bike, studiously not looking at him. Nyssa had already made her way to the alley entrance and was waiting for them impatiently. 

_"Arsenal. Canary."_ Felicity's voice came over the comms and he could feel his muscles relax in automatic response. Oliver might mean safety, but Felicity's voice meant _home_. _"Heir."_ He saw Nyssa tilt her head in acknowledgement and found himself smiling, just a little. _"We are all off our game right now."_ He heard her take a shuddering breath and clenched his fists. He wanted to hit anything that could make Felicity sound like that, and it hurt him even more that this time there was nothing for them to fight. _"But we need to set all of that aside right now. In that building… In that building, right there, are somewhere around forty women, little boys and girls who are in a waking hell. They are terrified, and in pain, and there are men in there who are hurting them. Right. Now. And I can’t bear to make them wait one second longer for rescue than we can manage."_ He closed his eyes at her words, trying to breathe through the new images now searing their way through his imagination. He grasped for the calm that Oliver had tried to beat into him for months and just barely succeeded as she continued inexorably. _"We can't afford to be distracted. Those people need us. They need us now. If we choose not to do this, we are leaving them in that hell for another day. Or more. Maybe, forever."_ Another deep breath, ticking his eardrum. Her voice cracked as she finished with: _”You guys, you don’t have to do this. But I’m going to, one way or another.”_

Digg took over. _"In or out, right now."_

_"In."_ There was no compromise in Nyssa's immediate response. _"Alone, if needs be."_

_"In."_ Laurel, impatient at Nyssa's side. 

"Yeah, ok." Roy shook his shoulders loose and flipped up his hood. "What are we waiting for?" 

_”The number of guards does present a problem. Our best bet is to go in quiet, take out the guards on the packages, and then create a diversion to distract the rest. As soon as we have eyes-on verification we can call in SCPD.”_

“Head in from the roof?” Roy asked as they headed to the target warehouse. 

_”Yeah. Go at the southwest corner; the top floor has a block of offices there.”_ Digg paused and Roy could just barely hear Felicity’s lighter voice saying something in the background. _”Overwatch has a large heat signature in one of the offices. Could be a server room. If so, we need to make a stop on the way. Keep your eyes open; we can’t see which floor those guards are on for sure. There are five in the area of the offices. Could be in the offices, could be in the warehouse underneath.”_

_”Understood.”_ Roy laced his hands together and braced to help launch Laurel to the second level of the fire escape. Nyssa simply gave his cupped fingers a contemptuous look and sprang to grab the railing, pulling herself up effortlessly. He rolled his eyes and took a running step, using the dumpster as a springboard to leap high enough to follow her up. 

The roof access to the office space was a piece of cake and he couldn’t keep the snort of derision from huffing out as the door gave to his shoulder with a minimum of resistance. _”Check for traps,”_ Digg instructed, and Roy immediately backed away to take a good look. 

Nyssa scanned the door and the staircase heading down and strode through. “No traps,” she said. “Video surveillance is in place.” 

_”Overwatch is on it.”_ Even as Digg spoke the camera went dead, the little red light flicking out like an evil eye closing. 

“I suppose there is some benefit to having assistance,” Nyssa mused. 

“It does make it easier to avoid jail time,” Laurel agreed wryly. Nyssa shrugged at that and stalked down the stairs. He couldn’t figure out how she walked so confidently but was still utterly silent. It was like she’d studied with cats or something. It was just _so cool_ that she could do that, and he wanted badly to learn how. Even Oliver with all his sneaky stealth skills was still a noticeably noisy presence when he was striding like that. 

Or, he had been. 

_”Two coming up on the left.”_ Digg’s interjection brought him back to the present. _”Server room to the right. Note it’s giving off a lot of heat, could be obscuring our view of that area.”_

Nyssa turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs without even slowing down, her leather jacket swirling out like she was in the freaking Matrix or something. He jumped the last two steps to be at her back and was awestruck as she moved into the pair of guards as if she were … slapping water. She was just so smooth. 

The first two guards were down in seconds, and he took a moment to zip-cuff their hands and feet as Nyssa headed to clear the rest of the left side of the corridor. He had just pulled the final cuff tight when a grunt behind him indicated Laurel engaging someone coming in from the right. He turned, ready to support but Laurel ducked the guard’s punch and dropped him with an absolutely brutal elbow strike to the temple. He gave her a quick nod and reached for his flex cuffs. 

“Three down,” he muttered. “All wrapped up.” 

He saw a shadow move out of the corner of his eye and reacted, springing to his feet and reaching automatically for an arrow, sliding sideways against the hallway wall. 

A guard stepped out of the second right hand door. He had a gun in each hand and had the barrels trained on them unerringly. Roy froze. The guard’s face was ordinary, his hair a nondescript brown, and his eyes were cold and utterly expressionless. Roy’d seen that look before; that look said that someone was going to die. 

The guard’s hand tightened around the butt of the gun as he started to squeeze. He knew, knew it to his bones that he had only a fraction of a second to save his life. 

In that frozen instant he wondered: Did Oliver know? Before the sword did … what swords do, did he know? Did he have a fraction of a second to save _his_ life, and fail? 

Roy went for the arrow, knowing he was too late.


	4. Falling (Laurel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy, Nyssa, and Laurel work to free the captives from the warehouse and face the horrors of human trafficking up close.

Before Roy could finish his draw, Laurel saw a knife sprout suddenly from the man's throat. 

He tried to gasp, reached up to paw at the hilt protruding from the front of his neck. He succeeded only in hitting it with the barrel of his gun, knocking it to the side. The razor sharp blade tore through his neck like it was carving butter and there was an abrupt cascade of thick red down the man's chest. He jolted again and the knife hit the carotid, spraying a welter of bright blood over the wall with his pulse. 

"Holy _fuck_!" Roy scrambled backwards to get away, hitting her face hard with one windmilling arm. She fell back too, dropping automatically into a roll to try and keep it from doing damage. Somehow she managed to stay in line with the hallway and avoid tumbling into the wall. 

Nyssa stepped over her and grasped the hilt of her knife; ripping it the rest of the way out of the dead man's throat and wiping it clean on the sleeve of the man's jacket. She looked them both over dispassionately. "That was poorly done," she told them scathingly. "Another half-instant and one or both of you would be dead." She shook her head and disappeared through the door in a swirl of leather and silk. 

Laurel gritted her teeth and got back to her feet in a motion she was pretty sure looked awkward as hell. The heels might look great with the outfit, and made good weapons when stomping, but didn't do much for the simple actions like standing up. Yet another thing that Sara had made easy that really, really wasn’t… and Sara was the last thing she needed to be thinking about right now. Grief was a distraction. 

Know that didn’t make it any easier to set aside, though. _Another_ thing that Sara had been so much better at… 

Roy regained his balance and stood staring down at the guard's corpse. The dead man's eyes were open and glassy in death, the surprise and fear he'd felt stamped on his face. She looked away, fast. Before other memories – Sara, Tommy… Jesus, _Tommy_ … 

Too late. 

She bit the inside of her cheek and made herself come back to the present, fixing her eyes on Roy to avoid looking down. 

"Is this -" Roy lifted his gaze to hers, his face so pale he looked worse than the dead man. "Is this what Oliver looked like, do you think?" 

A flash of Ollie, bloody and torn and sprawled out with this awful _stillness_ burst through her head and she felt her gorge rise. It reminded her of the last time she’d had to mourn Ollie, and it _pissed her off_. "Stop it!" She hissed it at him fiercely. "We don't know anything yet, and even if we did, even if we knew right now that Ollie was dead and never coming back, we will never know the details." She swallowed hard. "Imagining the possibilities will just drive you crazy. Believe me. _I know_." Oliver, skin pasty white and loose from days in saltwater, eyes open and milky. It was another blast from the past that she really didn’t need. 

Just as she didn’t need the technicolor images of Sara’s dead eyes staring at her, glinting in the streetlights of a urine-soaked alley. The desire for a drink struck her like an actual fist to her chest and she gritted her teeth through the pang. 

She stepped past Roy, grabbing his arm to drag him along. 

_"Focus,"_ Digg said forcefully. _"Stop fucking around."_

That made both of them blink. Digg always made an effort to keep his language clean despite his military history, so that he'd stay professional with his clients even under stress. His cursing now… it was just another indication that everything was wrong. 

"Copy that," she replied, echoed an instant later by Roy. They exchanged a look then followed Nyssa through the door. 

A dark hallway opened in front of them, transitioning from the cushy upper offices to the dank cement of the warehouse proper. There was a thick humidity in the air, carrying the distinct stench of urine and feces. She remembered when smells like that were foreign to her. Days when Tommy was alive, when she thought she already knew everything about loss, about pain. When she thought that saving people could be done within the law. 

God, she’d been so naïve, in so many ways. 

"We're heading to the holding area," she heard Roy mutter, his voice heavy with disgust. "This place stinks." 

"It really does," she agreed quietly, stepping carefully and keeping all her senses open for more surprise guards. They came up on a closed door to their right and Roy checked the knob, nodding when he found it unlocked. He eased it open and they were greeted by the familiar hum of computer fans. 

"Server room," she said. 

_"Run the download key, scramble everything, and set it to blow,"_ Digg instructed after a pause, presumably to consult with Felicity. _"You can use the explosion to help cover your exfil."_

"Right." Roy slipped through the door and Laurel closed it behind him before proceeding down the hall. 

_"Corridor and rooms along the north side of corridor are clear,"_ Nyssa's low contralto sang out softly. _"If one of you would like to join me, we can proceed to the basement and retrieve the…"_ Her voice sank with disgust. _"Packages."_

"Coming to you," Laurel confirmed. 

_"I see three, maybe four guards left near the prisoners,"_ Digg told them as she moved as quickly and quietly as she could to catch up to Nyssa. _"Most of them still seem to be to the other side of the building."_

Laurel reached Nyssa's shoulder as she swooped down on one of the remaining guards, using the edge of her sword hilt as fixed leverage to wrench his head around with a muffled crack. 

"The camera room was on the north side, so I took the liberty of checking them before I destroyed the screens. There are now two guards remaining in the cargo area," Nyssa reported in her precise accent, barely sparing Laurel a glance over her shoulder as she lowered the dead guard to the floor soundlessly. "Plus another three, I believe." 

Digg sounded puzzled. _"Another three? Where are they?"_

"They are currently occupied in the first prisoner cell," Nyssa said venomously. 

_"I see them,"_ Digg replied after a long moment. He sounded tired, and angry. Laurel could relate. _"Looks like only one prisoner in there with them."_

Nyssa slid up to the edge of the cross-corridor, just as Roy arrived at her back. “The charges are set, I’m back with Black Canary and Heir,” he reported. His voice sounded even more brittle than before and Laurel looked him over closely. He was staring at the dead guard that Nyssa had left in the hallway and he looked positively haggard, heavy lines bracketing his mouth as he frowned. She touched his shoulder and he shook her off. 

Nyssa leaned back to whisper. “We need to go down this final set of stairs. Make sure to close the door behind us and use your zip cuffs to bind it shut. Should the remaining guards come after us we will need the warning and the time to respond.” 

Roy looked rebellious but nodded curtly when Laurel nudged him. Nyssa lifted her chin and gave them both an arch look before gliding silently through the door. Laurel followed down the stairs, hearing Roy pause to block the door behind them. 

Nyssa paused at the bottom of the steps and bowed her head as she waited for Laurel and Roy to catch up. When she lifted her head her eyes blazed with such hate that they both reflexively took a step backwards. “Come,” Nyssa said, “It is time to erase this _infection_ from the Earth.” 

She stepped through and in two steps was at the closed door to the first cell, drawing her sword from over her shoulder in a beautifully smooth motion. She didn’t stop to check whether or not it was locked; she simply kicked the door open and passed into the room like fury in human form. As the door gave she could hear deep grunts, male laughter, and the obscene slap of flesh against flesh with high pitched whimpers of pain. The noised stopped with a wet gurgle and a heavy thud against the wall inside. Laurel chased after her and stopped dead in the doorway, fighting back the desire to throw up. 

One guard was already down, staring sightlessly at the wall from a head almost completely severed from his shoulders. The second was slumped in the corner with his hands clamped against his stomach, trying and failing to hold his intestines inside. The stench of opened bowel rolled through the room, but it was the sight of the third guard that had her gorge rising. 

He’d apparently had time to react while Nyssa butchered his partners, and was huddled against the wall with a trembling, terrified, _naked_ girl held tightly in front of him. Blood was streaming from her nose and down her thighs, and she was crying and trying to cover her breasts and groin with her broken hands. She was covered in bruises and one of her eyes was swollen shut. The guard had hunched down behind her and was peering at them over her shoulder, terror on his face. Nyssa crouched on the filthy mattress in the centre of the floor, her sword held diagonally in front of her and a knife in her other hand. Her eyes were fixed on the guard with the unflinching focus of a snake staring down its prey. 

It took Laurel two tries to speak, and when she finally did her voice was thick and almost unrecognizable. “Paladin, we have eyes on Meredith Baker. Call SCPD. Tell them to hurry.” She glanced at the black and blue marks covering the girl’s skin. “Tell them that they need to send female officers, and to have counselling standing by.” 

_”Acknowledged,”_ said Digg over the soft choking sound that she knew was Felicity. 

“You,” Laurel glared at the guard cowering behind the brutalized girl. “Have one… _one_ chance to survive this.” Nyssa’s fingers flexed minutely on the sword hilt and her mouth tightened mulishly. “Release Miss Baker right now or you die.” She heard the tiny click of Roy opening the door at the bottom of the steps. 

The guard’s eyes flicked frantically between her and Nyssa, but he didn’t let go of the girl. 

Roy came up at her shoulder, taking in the scene with a single look. His bow was in his hand and an arrow nocked and ready in the time it took Laurel to blink, and the next instant the arrow was buried in the wall beside the guard’s head. 

The guard turned to look, yelping in shock. Nyssa _moved_ , almost faster than Laurel could see, and an instant later her sword was jutting from the guard’s eye. The girl tumbled forward into Laurel’s arms, leaving the guard pinned to the wall, his limbs jittering in death. Nyssa stepped back, her teeth bared in rage and triumph. 

“Oh my God, oh my God,” the girl was chanting, shuddering and crying in Laurel’s arms. Reflexively she tightened her hold, looking desperately around for something to cover her with and coming up with nothing. She considered and discarded the idea of stripping a shirt from one of the guards. 

Roy read her dismay and reached for the zipper of his jacket, but Nyssa shook her head impatiently and pulled off her cloak, wrapping it around them both. Laurel took it gratefully and tucked it around the girl as gently as she could manage. 

“Paladin,” Roy said, turning his back and stepping into the hallway. “Tell the police to bring blankets and clothing. Lots of both. It looks as though there’s none here.” 

_”Got it. SCPD ETA is sixteen minutes.”_

Laurel brought the girl to her feet. “There are still two more guards,” she said, tucking her under her arm and holding her close. “Meredith? Meredith Baker? Can you walk?” She asked gently. 

“I’ll take the guards,” Roy said. 

_”Looks like they’re just around the corner to the left,”_ Digg contributed. _“They’re covering the other exit.”_

“I will assist,” Nyssa said and started to follow. 

“No!” Roy held up his hand and moderated his volume when Nyssa stopped in surprise. “I’ve got it. I really want to hit something right now,” he finished and she nodded slowly. 

“Very well,” she said. “I will accompany you to the corner and I will begin to release the prisoners from that end of the hallway. That way I am nearby if you require assistance.” 

Roy gave a curt jerk of his head and set off down the hallway, Nyssa moving after him like a larger, smoother shadow. 

The girl curled tighter into Laurel’s side, burying her face in the collar of her jacket. “Meredith?” Laurel tried again in her gentlest voice. “I need you to walk. I need to help the others and I really don’t want to leave you here.” 

That got her moving. Laurel helped her take a shaky step, and the next one was stronger. “That’s it, that’s it,” she said encouragingly. “You’re doing great, Meredith.” 

The girl mumbled something unintelligible against her jacket. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. Another step, that’s right. Keep going.” 

The girl lifted her head just a little. “Merry,” she said in a hoarse, broken voice. 

“Absolutely.” Laurel gave her a tiny squeeze, mindful of the bruises under the cloak. “Merry, you are doing so well. You’re so brave.” They reached the next door. At the end of the hallway, Roy and Nyssa exchanged some whispers before Nyssa retreated a few feet and paused outside the closest cell. Laurel mimicked her. “Paladin? How many inside my location?” 

_”Two, though one of the heat sigs is big enough to maybe make three,”_ he replied immediately. 

She nodded even though he couldn’t see her and carefully eased Merry to the ground. “I’m not leaving you,” she told her firmly. “I’m just going to look in this room and release the prisoners, ok?” 

Merry looked up at her from her one open eye. “No,” she said, “but do it anyway.” 

Laurel gave her a smile and very gently brushed a lock of matted hair back from her face. “So brave,” she said again, and stood. She tested the doorknob as carefully as she could, finding it locked. “Going in,” she whispered mostly to herself before standing and kicking the door exactly as she’d seen Nyssa do. 

At the other end of the hall, Nyssa did the same thing, and Roy disappeared around the corner with the sound of the crash. 

The door frame gave with a gratifying ease and she launched into the room, clubs at the ready. 

Immediately she could see that the three people in the room were all captives; two terrified female faces stared at her from their positions chained to opposite walls. Their pupils were pinpoints and they were both blinking at her hazily. Drugged. These guys were just such _assholes_. 

A furtive motion beside the smaller woman made her jump, but the sight of a small head of dark hair had her blowing out her breath in relief and dropping to her knee to make herself less imposing. “I’m here to help you,” she said quickly. “Don’t be afraid.” They seemed to be largely intact but bruised. 

God, she was glad. She didn’t know whether she’d have been able to process another scene like Merry’s, and even the thought made her feel terrible. Of course she would process, if it came to it. These people had to _live_ through it, and they deserved to have nothing but her best. Anything else was unworthy of them. 

She didn’t want to be unworthy of them. 

“Paladin, I have eyes on Jennifer Miles and Jennifer Mason,” she managed to say steadily. “And a child.” 

_”Last two guards are down,”_ Roy said with a vicious satisfaction. _”What’s the status on the others?”_

_”All steady at the other end of the building,”_ Digg told them. 

_”Paladin, three captives here. One woman, one boy child, one girl.””_ Nyssa reported calmly. 

“I need some help,” Laurel examined the chains. 

_”Coming to you,”_ Roy replied. 

_”Three captives, all adult women.”_ Nyssa wasn’t as steady this time. _”One is alive.”_

“You’re Black Canary,” Jennifer Mason suddenly said. “You work with the Arrow. Did the Arrow come for us?” 

_Ollie._

The reminder hit her like a punch to the stomach. Through a throat tight with tears, she replied, “The Arrow isn’t here tonight, Miss Mason, but he was part of getting us to you.” 

Roy stuck his head in the door, careful to stay as far away from Merry as he could. “What do you need?” 

“Check the guards for keys?” She hated asking him to do it, but she didn’t see another choice. She hadn’t thought he could pale further but he did. 

“Can’t I just pick the locks?” he asked plaintively, taking a single step inside. 

As the women registered his presence they shrank away in terror, Jennifer Mason squeaking out a high-pitched scream. Laurel placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her but she just jerked violently at the touch. 

“Nevermind,” he said, withdrawing immediately. “I’m on it.” 

_”Five captives. One adult woman, two female children, two boys.”_ Nyssa continued her relentless march through the cells. _”They have all been completely unclothed thus far. I have seen none yet uninjured. Please update the police, Paladin, that they will be requiring significant medical care.”_

Roy came back with bloodstained hands and a set of keys. “The guy with the…” he gestured across his midsection descriptively, “had them in his pants pocket.” 

_Bet you’re wishing he wasn’t the only one in there wearing pants,_ she thought reflexively but managed to bite back the words before she said them. Gallows humour was one thing, but the image of Merry’s plight wasn’t something that she could forgive herself for making light of, no matter how automatic the reaction was. Instead she took the keys wordlessly and efficiently released the cuffs. “I’m going to go ahead and help set the others free,” she said softly to the two Jennifers. They just blinked at her uncomprehendingly. 

_”Five captives. All girl children. Four alive.”_

_”SCPD ETA five minutes.”_ Digg, checking in. 

“You take the doors, and I’ll let them loose.” 

Roy nodded his agreement. 

“Are you ok, Merry?” She paused to kneel beside the girl huddled in the hallway. A slow nod answered her and she patted her shoulder gently. “We’re going to the next door. We aren’t leaving you.” Merry just cowered deeper into Nyssa’s cloak. Laurel stood and nodded, and Roy kicked the door as if imagining one of the guards’ heads. 

Five children stared at her with wide-eyed fear. Their bodies were dotted with bruises but they seemed intact except for the chains holding them in place along the walls. 

“Five children,” Laurel reported through the tears she couldn’t stop any longer. She made quick work of the chains and the kids all gravitated together into a ball of shivering fear. It tore at her to leave them but there were more cells to clear and no blankets to give them. She stood and slipped back out of the room. “Clarissa Edwards. Jason Smith. Alexa Brant. Louisa Alvarez. Elena Ivanova.” 

_”Three captives. Adult women.”_ Nyssa reported dutifully. 

Roy was already waiting at the next room. Only four more to go. He checked the knob, leaned into the kick. 

“Four adult women.” Laurel wasn’t sure how she was managing to talk anymore. Even though her tears had stopped her horror hadn’t. “Marissa Poliski, Rhonda Katsopoulis, Maria Tsernic.” She choked as she released them as fast as possible, trying to ignore the way they shrank from her hands. “Jasmine Lawlor, VSA.” 

_”Understood.”_ Digg sounded like he was pacing. _”Team! The guards are moving. They’ve been alerted.”_

“Four children, all female, all alive.” Nyssa emerged from the cell beside them. Her face looked as if it had been carved from marble, she had locked herself down so hard. “Assuming the police estimated their arrival with some form of accuracy,” her tone made her opinion of that likelihood quite clear, “they should be here in approximately two minutes.” 

_”Agreed,”_ Digg replied, hearing something in Nyssa’s words that Laurel missed. _”Blow the servers, Arsenal. Buy some time.”_

“With pleasure.” Roy flicked the little detonator into his palm and pressed the button as Nyssa broke through the final door. 

The explosion shook the whole building. Dust sifted down on them from the ceiling and a rolling puff of smoke and dirt burst out of the ceiling vents. The captives screamed. Reflexively, Laurel ducked, seeing Roy do the same out of the corner of her eye. 

_”Four captives,”_ Nyssa said, completely unaffected. _“Three women, one boy child. Alive.”_

Over the ringing in her ears, Laurel could just make out the sound of sirens. “Better add the fire department to that list of people to send, Paladin.” 

_”Copy that. The rats are leaving the building,”_ Digg added. _”Looks like you shouldn’t have any more trouble.”_

She could hear the police burst into the warehouse above, and turned quickly to drop down to one knee beside Merry. “The police are here,” she said. “They’re going to take good care of you. Don’t be afraid, ok?” 

Merry’s good eye opened wide, showing white all the way around the dark blue iris. “You’re leaving?” 

“This time I have to.” She reached out and placed her hand as carefully as she could against Merry’s dark hair. “We need to be away before the police come downstairs. They don’t like us much. We make things messy for them.” 

Merry swallowed hard, tears welling, but finally nodded. 

“So brave,” Laurel told her again, smiling at her. 

“Come on,” Roy pulled her to her feet as the police broke through the door at the top of the stairs. Nyssa was already waiting for them at the turn in the corridor. Unlike earlier, she wasn’t radiating impatience; now she just exuded _stillness_. They raced up the steps and across the alley, not stopping until they reached where they’d hidden the motorcycles. 

Laurel pulled her bike upright and kicked it into life, barely noticing as Nyssa climbed on behind her. _”Back to base,”_ Digg said in her ear. 

_”Team,”_ Felicity added huskily, sounding as if she’d been crying. _”Come on home.”_

Laurel lifted her foot and kicked the bike into gear. Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, the desire for a drink ( _or many, many drinks, God, please, oblivion would be so perfect right now_ ) gnawed at her stomach again. It would be so easy; she could just make a turn, tear off the mask and wig and find a nice open bar. There were lots of them in the Glades. She bit her lip until it bled, the coppery taste chasing away a little of that horrible ache. 

Instead she said, “copy that,” and followed Roy back to base.


	5. Falling (Digg)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy and Laurel return from the warehouse and Nyssa provides some very uncomfortable truths.

A soft beep from the door of the foundry signalled the Roy and Laurel's return and John gave a private sigh of relief. He knew they had to keep going despite the news Nyssa had brought but that didn't mean it was easy, especially for Roy who had never had to learn how to operate through shock and despair. Laurel at least had extensive experience with loss, though he was impressed that she'd functioned as well as she had. 

Not that he thought it was a lesson they needed to learn, and _Jesus_ not this way, but until they knew something definitive the best thing was to keep moving and find something else to focus on. Use the mission to provide a temporary cushion against that first gut-busting blow, gain a little distance. Buy them all the chance to breathe before facing the possibilities, to delay the reaction until it was controllable, or at least containable. 

Then they'd ended up with a mission like this. He'd known when he sent them out that it would be hard, but he hadn't been prepared for it to be this _awful_. There had been so many children, way more than they'd thought there would be. They had enough missing women to have made up the numbers without a single child. 

So where were the other women? There had to be another facility, at least, and after their raid on this one… There was every chance that the traffickers would simply cut their losses and bail on the operation. Felicity had reached that horrifying conclusion before he had and had been working her computers feverishly since. She was currently tracking all of the heat signatures that had fled the warehouse individually, hoping they would lead her to the other captives, while she listened to the reports from the EMS and police as they handled the rescues. He didn't think she even realised that she had tears flowing down her face until he'd offered her the box of tissues. She'd taken it wordlessly. He wasn't sure if it was the terrible stream of data about the injured or the looming news of Oliver that was doing it, but he knew either way it was hurting her badly. 

For himself, well. John knew this sensation all too well. The vaguely lightheaded feeling, the swooping in his gut like weightlessness. The twisting in his chest. 

He was free falling and he was doing everything he could to delay the crash, because it was going to hurt like a fucking _bastard_ , and he knew that the only possible way to avoid that stone bitch landing was to get some proof that it was a lie. 

He'd looked straight into Nyssa's eyes, though, and he saw that whatever else was going on, _she believed what she was saying_. And she was saying that she'd been there. 

He forced his mind back to the point of the evening's work. 

It had been pure hell for him to listen over the comms as Roy and Laurel struggled to handle this job so fucking far out of their wheelhouse. Nyssa had been a lifesaver in more ways than one and he knew it. His heart was screaming at him the whole time that he should be in the field with them, facing too many guards with too little assistance, fighting by their side. 

But the fact was, he couldn't be _that_ guy anymore. He had other responsibilities, and he'd made promises to himself that he couldn't break. Now he had to be stronger than he was before. 

Having spent a few nights on this side of the comms, he had no idea how Felicity did it night after night. Listening to everything going wrong was absolutely devastating, so much harder than being in the centre of the battle where focus and reaction was so completely in the moment. He'd never considered the strength it must take for her to listen and do nothing. Add to that the number of times she'd heard them get hurt, or ended up with broken comms and nothing but silence... The woman was incredible. She was his fucking hero, was what she was. Oliver would be one lucky bastard if he ever got his head out of his ass. 

Except. 

That weightless spot in his gut lurched and he found his hand on Felicity's shoulder. She looked up, that terrifying blankness in her eyes that he knew matched the look in his own. He didn't know where she'd learned the compartmentalization that he'd paid damned dearly for, but somehow she was locked down like a champion and he wished distantly that she'd never known the kind of pain that drove someone to learn. 

"Barry will be here in five minutes," she told him softly. 

He nodded, turning to face Roy as he hit the bottom of the stairs. Roy's face was even paler than before he'd left, and his eyes were wide and unfocussed. He held out a flash drive for Felicity, who took it wordlessly. 

"That," he said thickly, "Sucked." He started to run his hands through his hair but stopped short when he saw the blood on his gloves. "Like, that was the most awful thing I've ever seen. And I grew up in the Glades. With a drug addict." 

Laurel drew off her wig and shook her hair loose. "That was all sorts of wrong," she declared abruptly. "I don't just mean that everything about that place was full of evil, I mean that there was something else going on. Something we don't understand yet." 

"We know there is at least one more facility, or else there are two kidnapping rings operating in Starling," Felicity said. 

Laurel nodded. "There weren't enough adults," she said, then absently swiped a drop of blood from her lip. John frowned. He hadn't realised she'd taken a hit. She swallowed hard, clearly remembering something unpleasant. 

Felicity frowned and spun her chair to face her machines. "The police are reporting quite a few dead," she said evenly. "More than … oh." She tapped her mouse and then leaned back from her screen as if getting further away would make what she was seeing less horrible. " _Oh._ " 

Roy's arms were crossed over his chest, his shoulders hunched. "Those men didn't have to die," he blurted angrily, whirling on Nyssa. "You know how we work. _No one dies_. Not even human garbage like them." 

Nyssa lifted her chin proudly. "I recognize no such restriction. I am not a part of your team, and your rules do not apply to me." 

John moved to stand beside Roy, crossing his own arms in support. "I know we kind of strong-armed you into helping tonight, but you can't say you didn't know the limits Oliver set out. I'm the first one to understand that sometimes people have to die, but we're supposed to be the good guys. We take the time to catch people without killing them." He gestured to the photos now littering Felicity's screens. Those weren't simple ‘kill or be killed' self-defence shots. Some of those men had been butchered. 

Nyssa's lip curled. "Oliver is dead," she said brutally, and for a heart-stopping instant John felt his muscles start to react without his conscious control. He managed to stop himself before his hands actually went for her throat but it was a hell of a lot harder than he was comfortable with and he stuffed them into his pockets. He saw the flicker in her eyes that meant she'd seen the abortive motion, and the utter lack of concern that made his blood boil higher. 

"That doesn't mean our principles die with him," Laurel interjected with unexpected heat. Maybe she was having a harder time with everything than she'd been showing. "As much as they deserved death, it's not up to us to give it to them." 

"Your principles are your own," Nyssa retorted coolly. "Do not presume to dictate mine to me." When Laurel opened her mouth to continue, she held up her hand to forestall her. "I did not mean that your principles died with him. I meant that your choices did." Her lips were tight with anger. "Choices are purchased with skill, sister, and _you have little coin with which to bargain._ " Her contemptuous look raked over Laurel and Roy, making it clear she meant them both. "Oliver earned his skill as Sara did, through years of price paid in blood and pain and broken bones. His capabilities allowed him, and you, choices that you no longer have because _he isn't here_." Her eyes pinned Roy. "Were you faster to react, or more practiced, you could have responded in a way that allowed me to permit the first guard to live. You could have pushed Laurel out of the way, or dived to the floor, or retreated into the doorway. Instead, you went for your weapon because that is all you know. _My_ skill saved the lives of both of you, and the price that was paid was the guard's life." Her gaze moved to Laurel. "As for the others, well." She pulled her hood off and set her shoulders belligerently. "I have no compassion for men who trade in women's flesh as if it was so much meat. They were death dealers, who had their own fates dealt for them tonight. All I need is to remember the dead children and that poor ravaged girl and I wish I could bring them back to kill them again more slowly." 

Roy turned his back and headed for the back room. Based on the paste-grey colour of his skin, John figured he was either going to cry or puke, possibly both. Laurel's cheeks were a hectic red and she stared at Nyssa as if she wanted to rip her head off. Instead of acting though, she turned on her heel and followed Roy towards their change room. 

John sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. 

"You're right," Felicity's voice came from behind him, still unnervingly flat. He heard the faintest squeak from the chair as she stood, and a moment later felt her reassuring presence at his shoulder. "You're right, Nyssa, and I… Thank you, for saving Roy and Laurel's lives." 

Nyssa's shoulders relaxed. "I do not say these things to hurt you," she told Felicity in a vastly different voice than before. "I am trying to help you." She looked at John. "You cannot continue this way, by which I mean you cannot continue _this_ way." 

"We heard you," John said hoarsely, that twist in his chest back with a vengeance. Felicity leaned her shoulder against the back of his arm, just enough to draw and provide support. "We appreciate your help, especially given what was found at the warehouse was more than we were equipped to handle without you," John said slowly and firmly. "But it's time for you to go." 

Nyssa looked for a moment as though she was going to argue, but ultimately she gave a curt nod and headed for the stairs. "Laurel and Roy are correct," she said suddenly, turning at the bottom step. "There was definitely something amiss at that location. There is no question that they were trafficking in those poor women, but that whole aspect of the operation felt like..." She paused and considered. "An afterthought." 

John nodded. "Understood," he replied. 

"I will return to discuss Sara's killer," she said before starting up the steps. "I have not forgotten." She made no effort to make it sound threatening; it just was. 

She closed the door before John thought up an appropriate rejoinder and he sighed. Felicity gave his forearm a quick squeeze and returned to her seat. John followed and pulled up the stool beside her so he could watch over her shoulder. 

"They've identified all of the captives," she offered quietly. "They were all local, already on our list except some of the kids who were just taken today." 

John blew out his breath. "I feel wrong saying I'm glad." 

Felicity nodded her understanding. 

They sat in silence, just breathing and listening to the continuing stream of information coming in from the hospital and police, watching the automatic ticker of updates scrolling down her screen with the list of captives and their condition, steadfastly ignoring the gaping absence at her other shoulder. John even pulled over one of the keyboards and started manually correlating the various locations the escaped guards were visiting. Felicity didn't say a word, just tilted her head for a second to rest against his shoulder before returning to her own work tracing the dead guards' identities. John was grateful for the support and the silence. He needed something to do. 

Anything to avoid looking at Arrow's suit glaring at them facelessly from its glass case.


	6. Falling (Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity loses the track on the guards, but finds something game changing in the data from the flash drive.

It was taking everything she had to keep typing with both hands when all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around her stomach and try to ease the ache that had set up residence the instant she saw Nyssa. She was an old pro at handling her emotions side by side with her intellect, and at how to set apart things that would cut too deeply now for later. Her brain was working smoothly, processing the information rolling past her on the screen with cool detachment. 

The problem was that it wasn't just emotional this time. This time, it _hurt_ ; physically hurt as if she'd been kicked in the stomach, and she wasn't nearly as accomplished at ignoring that. She could tell from the grey tinge under Digg's skin that he was fighting the same battle as she was, with roughly equivalent success. She reached over and patted his hand to offer what solace she could. 

She couldn’t help but think that it was a good thing, Nyssa bringing them the news that she had. Without it, she wouldn’t have already had this comforting numbness wrapped around her senses and she would have been facing the facts of what they discovered tonight with no defenses in place. She’d hacked the cameras once Roy had inserted the specially created flash drive, and what she’d seen before he’d started the wipe… 

She was pretty sure that her fight to avoid feeling anything over Nyssa’s news was the only thing that had saved her from a breakdown over the plight of the captives. 

They needed to find that second location. 

Unfortunately the escaped guards were not reorganizing. They hadn’t entirely split up into individuals but neither had they regrouped. Instead they scattered over all of Starling, with a couple heading out of the city entirely towards Bludhaven. The biggest group was only five men and they’d retreated to a large busy dive bar where she was having a hard time keeping their heat signatures differentiated. Then she’d lost the horizon on the satellite and even that slim lead had evaporated. 

It was so frustrating! They weren’t going to be able to find the second location tonight unless the police got lucky with one of the few guards that Nyssa hadn’t killed. There was a very good chance that innocent people – children! - were going to die tonight because she hadn’t been good enough. She could already see the look on Oliver’s face, so disappointed and with that terrible understanding he always wore when she failed… 

Except she wasn’t going to see that look. Because as Nyssa had declared so eloquently, _Oliver wasn’t here_. 

The ache throbbed and she blinked away tears for the countless time tonight. 

A blast of air announced Barry's arrival and she froze, unwilling to turn around. Unwilling to face him; whatever expression she was currently wearing, she was positive it wasn’t one she wanted to share. 

"Barry," Digg greeted politely. "Thanks for coming." 

"Hey!" Barry sounded cheerful and she felt a surge of anger that anyone could be feeling anything other than numb. She forced it back and spun slowly in her seat, teeth clamped on her lip to give her something to concentrate on other than the churning in her stomach. 

"Hi Barry," she managed to say without too much of a tremor in her voice. She counted it as a win. "Thanks for coming." 

He frowned at them, catching the unusual grimness in the room. "Yeah," he said slowly, "Digg said that." His eyes flicked between them and the concern on his face deepened. "You guys ok?" 

She stood abruptly, her chair sliding away from her with more force than she'd meant. "No," she replied with a brittle smile, "but we're not ready to talk about it yet. I’ll just go with: It’s been a really, _really_ long night." She looked to Digg and he was nodding his agreement. Jerky steps took her to the table where the container for the sword lay. To her eyes it seemed as though the carrier was oozing darkness and she shuddered as she picked it up. "We asked you to come to get this." She held it out and Barry took it from her carefully. She rubbed her hands against her thighs, trying to get rid of the oily sensation it left behind on her fingers. She knew it was all in her head, but that sword just felt like pure evil to her. 

Barry was watching her glare at the container and took a half-step back, holding it away from his body gingerly. "This isn't, uh, dangerous, is it?" His other hand crept towards his groin in the universal gesture of a man protecting his family jewels. "Like, radioactive?" 

She blinked. 

"No," Digg came to her rescue. "It's not dangerous." 

She felt a broken laugh start to rise in her throat and lifted her hand to her mouth to hold it back. _Not dangerous._ Just the instrument of Oliver's _death_. She closed her eyes and beat the thought back viciously. They didn't know for sure. 

"No radioactivity," she agreed, turning back to her chair like it was the only thing that felt like home. Digg patted her shoulder on her way past him, and he felt like home too. 

"It's a sword," Digg continued, his voice only slightly hoarse. "We need it to be tested." 

Barry stopped holding the carrier as if it was a bomb. "Oh, ok," he said uncertainly. 

"Please let Caitlin know," Felicity told him. "We want it tested for absolutely everything. _Anything_ that she can tell me about the sword and the blood on it, I want to know." She saw Barry jolt when she mentioned blood but kept going anyway. "We need a full DNA workup, but I don't want her to run matches. I… I'll do that from here." She met Digg's look with a pleading one of her own and was relieved when he nodded. "If we get a match on anything, we really want to know first," she finished in a rush. 

Barry watched them both with keen eyes. He'd become grimmer as she'd spoken and now stood in utter stillness completely at odds with his usual energy. "Felicity," he said carefully, "Where's Oliver?" 

"Thanks, Barry, for your help," Digg interjected firmly, stepping between them and herding Barry towards the door. "We really need those results as fast as possible.” 

Barry sighed but went. “Anything for you guys.” He stopped at the steps and spoke directly to Felicity. “You know that, right?” 

She managed a smile that only shook a little at the edges. “I know that, Barry, thank you.” 

He gave a grave nod and was gone in another blast of air. Digg shuddered. “That still freaks me out.” 

Felicity shrugged, turning back to the analysis of the jump drive and forcing her hand back to the keyboard from where it had fallen, pressed hard against her abdomen as if she could just hold it all in by constricting herself tightly enough. 

“Felicity,” Digg said in his softest voice, “we need to talk about what we’re going to do. After we get the results.” 

Her fingers froze on the keys and she bit her lip again to try and stop her gorge rising at his words. She didn’t recognize her voice when she spoke. “Not yet, John.” 

“We should decide what’s next, either way,” he persisted in that gentle tone that always made her wonder whether he was trying to talk her down or trying to piss her off by treating her like something breakable. Right now it was just making her want to throw her keyboard across the room, and she watched her fingers tighten around the edge of the desk with absent fascination. Maybe she was going to channel Oliver and just flip the whole thing over, damage be damned. 

_Oliver_. 

Her fingers were back at her stomach, her other hand pressed against her throat. “I said,” she whispered, “Not. Yet.” She tilted her head to look Digg dead in the eyes, saw him recoil at whatever he witnessed in her face. 

“All right,” he conceded, shoving back to his feet from where he’d leaned on her table and coming to stand at her left shoulder, his accustomed place. “What can you tell me… Tell us,” he corrected as Laurel and Roy returned, all cleaned up. “Does the drive have anything interesting?” 

She returned to the analysis with relief, letting the familiar soothing flow of data help her rebuild the wall between action and emotion, forcing back all the chaos and leaving clean intellect behind. Except for the treacherous ache in her guts, which she could swear was throbbing with her pulse. 

“We lost the horizon on the satellite, so we’re no longer tracking the guards that made it out of the warehouse. I gave the police the full set of data that I had though, and I managed to get some street camera footage of some of them that I’m running through facial recognition. No hits yet; the darkness really messes with the quality of the captures. Unless the police get lucky, we aren’t going to find the second location tonight. I sent Detective Lance a message to warn him about it though, so they’re going to be working hard to try and get the address.” 

“I can help with that,” Laurel offered immediately. “I’ll head over to the station and see if the DAs office can help make them turn.” 

“Good, Laurel, maybe that will work. I’m also working on getting copies of the victim statements from the captives; one of them may have heard something that could help us get a location. They aren’t going to want to push them, though, which I understand, because who could possibly want to cause those people more grief, but at the same time if there is any chance at all that they know something that could get us that second location faster we really need to know it and I don’t want to be a bad person but I really don’t see any good choices here right now…” 

“Felicity,” Digg interrupted gently. 

“Right. Nutshell: we need the victims interviewed ASAP, and even saying that out loud sucks.” 

Roy snorted his agreement. She was glad to see he wasn’t as gray although he still looked like a stiff wind would blow him over. 

She imagined that she didn’t look much better. 

“As for the drive, good work Roy. There’s a lot of activity here that doesn’t seem to be related to the trafficking,” she said crisply. “Most of it is in code, which should be easy enough to break with a little time, but I can tell you just by reviewing the numbers that this is a lot bigger than we’d originally thought.” Another couple of keystrokes had her whistling softly. “Like, _way_ bigger. The numbers I’m seeing here for money exchanging hands is in the high hundreds of thousands. Per transaction.” 

Laurel frowned. “That can’t be the people,” she said. “Slave trade is lucrative, but that’s way beyond top dollar, and normally you’d only get _that_ at auction. These guys are procurers; they should be making maybe ten thousand a head, average. Sometimes less, rarely more.” 

Roy’s mouth twisted with disgust. “That’s revolting.” 

“It is, but it doesn’t explain what we’re seeing here.” Digg tapped the table thoughtfully with one finger as he considered. “That’s drug money, or maybe large scale gun running. Even top profile assassinations don’t pay out like that.” 

Felicity nodded her agreement. “I’ll check the obvious possibilities, but this doesn’t really feel like Triad or Bratva to me. Those guys are usually bringing girls into the country, not exporting.” She shuddered even hearing herself say it. “Exports imply middle east or maybe South America? I suppose Yakuza is a possibility…” Her eyes flew across the screens, rapidly drinking in what she was seeing, searching for the connections. A new window popped up and she jolted in reaction. “Uh, guys?” 

They crowded close, trying to see what had her spooked. 

“You, uh. You set the charges on the server, right? Destroyed it?” 

“It’s all smoke and ashes now,” Roy declared. “I ran the drives with the magnets before I set the explosives too, like you said. There shouldn’t be anything left but slag.” 

“Oh,” she said. “That’s good.” She pushed back her chair and removed the flash drive as gingerly as if it had been made of nitroglycerin. “That means this is the only current copy.” 

“Of what?” Digg asked. 

“Of the crypto key to this organization’s secondary fiscal accounts.” She rolled the drive between her fingers. “About six billion.” 

“ _Dollars_?” Roy’s eyes bugged out. 

“Yep. This is holding the electronic key to their digital vault.” She held it up to the light, turning it a little to watch the florescent reflection from the overhead light glitter along the edge. “It’s not the only one, but the cryptography only supports three key signatures in total, two of which much be present in order to access the vault. Which contains money. In dollars. Plus, anything else that they want to keep secure. Plus! Oh yes. We made absolutely no effort tonight to be in any way covert, so the bad guys are totally going to know who destroyed their servers. _And_ we have a reputation for taking computer records before we destroy the servers. Which I am not in any way apologizing for, because those people are capital E evil and blowing up their servers is the least that they deserve. Just pointing out that they might not be… well. At all happy with the results. Which, yeah, fuck them all.” God, she wished Oliver were here. If he was, there was a great chance she would have just burrowed into his arms and never come out, whether he thought it was a good idea or not. An all new terror was rapidly gaining traction against the previous knot in her stomach. Ignoring it, she said lightly, “What do you think? Are they going to come looking for it?” 

“Oh, fuck,” Digg breathed, and she couldn’t have agreed more.


	7. The Pit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It woke.

It woke. 

Pressure. 

Liquid. 

Darkness. 

_Pain_. 

_He_ woke. 

Creeping awareness. 

Faint light above. 

Movement. Threatening shadows. 

He withdrew further, back against stone. 

_Lurking._

More movement, complete with flickering lights. He shrank into the depths in a swirl of heat and darkness, deciding. 

He would not seek out the source of the threat. 

The flickering lights increased in number and intensity. A low thrum began to vibrate the stone against his back. A new sensation kindled faintly in his chest. It grew with each beat of his pulse in his ears. 

_Anger._

It was not the right time. Somehow, he knew. Anger was a weapon. But Anger alone was insufficient. 

It must be balanced, with something else. Something hard. 

_Patience._

He waited. 

Thoughts floated idly through him, settling with feather light intent, invading his self with tiny tendrils of questing threads. He turned them over with absent interest, examining them from each available angle before releasing them as unworthy of greater consideration. 

The thrumming of the rocks turned to throbbing that echoed the beat of his pulse and he shifted minutely, discomfort sliding through him. The pounding changed rhythm, becoming erratic, becoming dissonant. His muscles clenched in protest, his very bones vibrating with repulsion. The anger in his chest expanded like wildfire, rage spilling along his veins. 

The threat was forcing him out of his refuge. 

The time for patience was over. 

_The threat was going to be sorry._

The lights took on a taunting aspect. They brightened and faded as if they were dancing closer and further from the surface. The threat was dangling them as lures. He slid sideways along the edge of the stone, shuddering with the horrible ache in his bones, demanding his exit. A wide platform bumped his shoulder. 

Perfect. 

He eased onto the platform, his attention never wavering from where the threat awaited him above the surface, behind those maddening yellow flickers. He drew his body together, making himself small, making himself _ready_. 

As the next light brightened, he launched like an uncoiling spring, ignoring the feint of the light and striking unerringly at the threat: the shadow behind it. He felt warm flesh under his hands and clenched his fingers viciously, ripping a great handful of meat away in a froth of hot blood. The scream of his prey echoed off the walls, and he sensed movement to his right. He spun, reaching eagerly for the new attacker. His fists buried into soft fabric and a harder, thicker material and he _heaved_ , hearing head meet stone with a wet sound like a cracking egg. The threat under the fabric went limp with a gratifying finality. 

He crouched on the stone boundary encircling his sanctuary and bared his teeth in a snarl. The remaining threats, _people_ , his brain informed him, _men_ , it specified after another look. Irrelevant, he decided. The only words for the threats that mattered were _enemy_ , or _not_. There were three remaining, and they all carried fire. The source of the lights. 

The threat closest to him raised a thin tube, pointing it at him. _Blowgun_ , supplied the depths of his mind. _Weapon_ , agreed his instincts, and he was on the man in less than a breath. One hand knocked away the weapon and the other slammed into the man’s neck. A quick clench and twist and he tore the man’s throat out in a welter of gore. The blood sprayed across his face and chest in a hot splash. 

More movement and he ducked, dropping below the edge of the stone circle. Whatever had been creating the drumming had stopped. 

Time to return to the pool. 

He eased around the edge until he was a safe distance from where they had last seen him. He lifted himself gingerly, intending to slither over the edge before they could react. 

Instead, he was grasped by the back of the neck and lifted to his feet. He fought to turn enough to assail his attacker and succeeded only in flailing and barking his arms and legs against the hard stone. A sharp pain in his shoulder made him snarl. Cold spread from the spot, flooding him with terrifying weakness. A new darkness began to creep in the edges of his vision. 

The hand at his neck gave him a hard shake before shoving him to his knees. He braced weakly, fighting the encroaching shadows that were nowhere near as comforting as those in the pool. The hand left his neck and defiantly he raised his head, glaring his hate in the torchlight. 

“Enough, my son.” It took time for the words to coalesce into meaning in his head, and when they did he simply bared his teeth in repudiation. 

“Very well.” 

A second jolt of pain and cold, and the devouring shadows dove forward and ate him whole.


End file.
